Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Love and Lunchboxes

This post was first published as a column in Practical Parenting Magazine, June 2012

The
other week, I was walking my three-year-old son T-Bone into day-care when I
realised I had forgotten his lunch-box. His little face was stricken. ‘My
lunch, Mama!’ he wailed. ‘No my lunch!
’ I told T-bone I’d bring it later, but he was inconsolable. At first, I
thought his reaction was because he really, really loves to eat. This boy is
what the Italians would call ‘a good fork.’ But even so, it seemed excessive. I
comforted him, fetched his lunch, and all was well.

But
it got me thinking. Pre-school, day-care, school – these are long days for
small children to be without mum and dad. They are stimulated and cared for,
and they are often treated with great affection by their teachers. They have fun. But they are also following
different rules than normal, lumped in with lots of other kids, who are
sometimes mean, and away from the frequent kisses and cuddles that are scattered
throughout a day at home with the family.

In
the middle of this day away from home comes lunchtime. It’s a pause, a time to
stop and sit and open a box of food packed by Mum or Dad. Everything in this
box says ‘I know you.’ You love ham but
not bread with bits. You like very
small, whole apples. As a treat you really love the princess yoghurt, and sometimes
you like a box of the fruit-and-nut mix that you helped Mummy make up on the
weekend.

For
T-bone, at three, this lunchbox is more than just food. It’s a tangible
reminder of home, where he belongs, and where he’ll be going in just a few hours.
It’s a hug and a kiss from Mummy in the middle of a long day without her.

I
debated the politics of lunchboxes with my husband Keith. We decided that if he
packed the school lunches, the children would have the same menu every day for
thirteen years: a vegemite sandwich, an apple and a muesli bar. His aim would
be to refine and simplify the packing routine over the years until it was streamlined
to absolute efficiency. There would never be any drama, but there would never
be any excitement.

On the other hand, if Mum took on the role, lunches would
change according to her whims of diet and interest. They would be delicious and
intricate and every once in a while, Mum would have a massive meltdown over the
pressure of packing lunchboxes every day for thirteen years. Dad would try and
be sympathetic. He appreciates the good food too. But also, he thinks she
should just pack a vegemite sandwich, an apple and a muesli bar.

I
like to put a note in T-Bone’s lunch every once in a while to tell him I love
him. He can't read it yet, but it's a reminder:: You’re in
the world, my little one. It’s tough and
wonderful and you’re in it on your own. But home is waiting and Mummy is there. In the meantime,
eat this.

we call them princess yoghurts too! I know the ones you mean. Busy has pretty much the same thing everyday and we often joke she will still be eating this in high school. but yes it does include a vegemite sandwich. I sometimes I put a note in there too.

Lunch box philosophy. I love this. We had a mean bartering system worked out by primary school. Five of my peppermint wrap bars (one each day), swapped with a canny bully for one small pack of Ruffles at the end of the week. Never been able to develop a proper taste for salt and vinegar chips since.

oh we have a similiar debate - mind you we have only just entered lunch box world really. it is a battle field.i made little felt stars that I sewed to rubber bands and i loop one on to each lunch box and i told my boy that is to help him remember me and my love for him.i must admit if they get left off he REALLLY notices!

Now I feel guilty about making the boys make their own lunches for the last 10 years or so.Still... I work at the same school they go to, so every now and then we bump into each other in the hallways and have a hug, so i guess it all evens out.

I've been at work four days a week since they were two. I've been known to tell them to just skip a shower (repeatedly, till the weekend). We were the family of the infamous Infants Homework Boycott. And I've been known to have nothing but dinner leftovers in the house come breakfast time.

But judging entirely by their lunchboxes,I've swindled teachers and other kids into thinking me a real Women's Weekly, Ought-to-Be-Congratulated, LovingKindness Mum.

But it backfired. The kids themselves are no longer impressed by home made risotto cakes, vege frittata, vietnamese rolls or sushi.

And instead of causing them to contrast the wonder of those now-forsaken lunches with dad's vegemite sanger, he trumped them with tuckshop money; $5 each.

Love in your lunchbox it seems, is a whole lot less important (at eight) than cash. Sush xoxo

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Hello, hola, bonjour, saluton, etc. Welcome to my blog, where I aim to explore some of the juicer chunks of domestic life. I am Rachael, a mum to three kids under six and a wife to one work-from-home solar scientist. Our working stats are three parts chaos to one part serenity and I am always trying to improve that equation. I cook, I clean, I whinge, I write. My back hurts and I possibly/probably have head lice.